


In the Path of the Stars

by hellscabanaboy



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:39:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/pseuds/hellscabanaboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishida Mitsunari is a truly pitiful man. Far too pitiful to let go to waste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Path of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viridianova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianova/gifts).



“Now,” says Hanbei, “I’ll need one of you to ride south with the advance guard. Your job will be to draw them out before the main force arrives.”

Yoshitsugu sits at the side of the room, heedless of the aches building in his body from the time spent kneeling. It’s much more amusing to watch Mitsunari’s shoulders shake with tension as he studies the wise man’s face. If it were any other man, he might have been surprised that a simple strategy meeting should have caused him so much strain. After a scant few weeks in Mitsunari’s service, it’s become merely ordinary.

Beside him, Tokugawa flashes his blinding smile. “I’d be glad to ride out first, Lord Hanbei,” he says. “I know Mitsunari wouldn’t wish to be away from your side.”

“How dare you presume to speak for me!” Mitsunari’s gauntlet slams against the table with a crack that makes even Tokugawa wince. Not that it’s unexpected - Yoshitsugu had thought he was doing quite well for remaining calm this long. With luck, he won’t have damaged anything, though luck hardly seems something of which Mitsunari is in great supply. “I’m more than ready to fight for Lord Hideyoshi at any time, even if it means laying down my life!”

“I merely didn’t want you to worry—”

“I feel concern only for achieving Lord Hideyoshi’s goals! And so should you, Ieyasu!”

Yoshitsugu can’t help but let slip a thin smile. It seems solicitude is too much for the poor boy to take.

“Now, Mitsunari-kun, do try to calm yourself,” the wise man says, looking nearly as pleased as Yoshitsugu. “I’m sure Ieyasu-kun merely had your best interests in mind.”

His entire affect changes in an instant. “My deepest apologies! Lord Hanbei!” Yoshitsugu catches a glimpse of his eyes wide with horror as he sinks into a low bow. “I intended no disruption— I assure you— Lord Hanbei, my interests are immaterial!” Tokugawa is reaching out to him in concern - never one to learn a lesson, was he - and when Mitsunari catches sight of him moving his lips pull back from his teeth like an animal. “I require no such consideration!”

“Of course you don’t,” murmurs Hanbei, and Mitsunari relaxes again all at once, lets his forehead rest on the floor. “In fact, I had been hoping I could send you with the advance guard. It’s more than time you had your own command, wouldn’t you agree? Independent of our main force, that is.”

“Lord Hanbei!” Even the boy’s pleasure has the cast of anguish to it - he practically sobs the words, face pressed flat to the ground. “That you should find me worthy of such a responsibility— I can never express my gratitude—”

“Just see that you give it your all.” The wise man doesn’t wait for him to get up, just turns to Ieyasu, whose broad smile hasn’t faded so much as dug in harsh around his lips. “We’ll still need your service with our main army, of course. We’ll certainly be able to use your dear Tadakatsu, as well…”

The wise man stops Yoshitsugu on the way out, as Mitsunari already kneels unheeding outside the room.

“You haven’t come to regret asking for this assignment, Otani-kun?” he asks. “He’s hardly what you’d expected, I imagine.”

“True.” Yoshitsugu had hardly known what to make of a man who showed so little concern for his sickness as Mitsunari. It had been in hopes of finding out that he had asked to be assigned to the boy’s service in the first place. And to find that such a wreck of a man was the one he had sought - Yoshitsugu has laughed himself sick of the irony already. He can scarcely imagine, now, what better he had hoped to find.

But the wise man will have realized that himself, should he have the need. “He’s more amusing.”

“I thought you might find him so.” Hanbei brushes his shoulder as he stands to leave - of course he would have no need to concern himself with Yoshitsugu’s taint. “Do try and take care of him, if you would.”

Yoshitsugu turns to look back at him, matches his smile with a still more bitter one. “My dear Lord Takenaka,” he says. “If you would send me to see to a man’s benefit, I can scarcely imagine who you would send to harm him.”

The wise man, as always, looks entirely satisfied. “I know I can count on you, Otani-kun.”

***

Mitsunari is absent from camp more and more as they make their way south. He returns with blood spattering his armor, sword clutched desperately in shaking fingers. Even once he falls into the inevitable sleep - dropping where he stands, as often as not - it can scarcely be pried from his fingers to drag him to bed.

This time, he’s slept for nearly a day.

He wakens all at once, flailing about for his sword as though the world is such a trial to him that the only way he can face it is armed and thrashing. Then again, Yoshitsugu has yet to see anything from him that would contradict that. Fortunately, he’s placed the sword in the far corner with the rest of Mitsunari’s baggage. It’s doubtful he’d do more than hurt himself, in this state.

“What is— Oh. Gyobu.” Mitsunari slumps back into the layers of his bedroll. “I didn’t send for you.”

“That would have been difficult,” Yoshitsugu agrees. “You’ve been in bed since your return last night.”

“That’s—” Mitsunari starts, looks around at the last rays of light filtering through the tent flaps. Quietly lowers his face, in a show of that shame that shows through when his anger momentarily lapses. “I have been remiss. To neglect my duties in such a manner, it’s unworthy of the privilege of service Lord Hideyoshi has granted me…”

Yoshitsugu smiles wide enough to tug at the skin of his face. “I’m sure he would be as stern as you could wish, were he here.” Mitsunari hangs his head further, doesn’t appear to notice the sarcasm. How lovely. Yoshitsugu busies himself setting food before him, bowls of rice and vegetables he’s saved from the evening meal. “Though you were hardly likely to have done otherwise, in your condition. What could you have been doing out there, I wonder.”

“There were men sighted on the road,” Mitsunari says. “Lord Hanbei’s plan depends on its secrecy. I can’t allow any to leave alive who might have betrayed our presence to the enemy.”

Perhaps they would have done, at that. Just as likely they were mere country folk, come to observe the spectacle of the men’s approach. But it hardly matters. “You could simply have sent some of the soldiers to take them. This is what you’ve been given an army for, Mitsunari.”

He grinds his teeth, as though the thought makes him angry. And well, all that discomforts him makes him angry, so very likely it does, at that. “It would only slow me down. I can’t risk allowing even one of the enemy to escape with his life.”

“Ah, but think of the men you’ve left behind. What are we to do without your guidance?” Doubtless that sarcasm will be lost on him as well. But it’s better that way. No matter; Yoshitsugu knows where to push, now. “Your men are a responsibility granted you by the Regent himself, after all. I know you would never wish to neglect such a responsibility, were it in your power.”

“It’s my responsibility to see that Lord Hanbei’s orders are carried out!” he cries, the anger in his voice edged with panic. It could almost be a game, to see how little it can take to draw that up from him. Yoshitsugu has never before seen a general who could be pitied for his command.

“And it’s for that reason you were given an army,” Yoshitsugu agrees. “But surely the wise man would wish you to see to its command as he would himself. As the Regent would, rather.” A standard that Mitsunari doubtless already heeds. Heeds, and finds himself wanting.

“Enough!” Mitsunari shouts, throwing off the remains of his bedding. “I’ll do my duty as I see fit.” He starts to get up, but clearly he’s misjudged how weak the long stillness has left him; he scarcely starts to get his gangly legs under control before his arms give way beneath him, leaving him on the floor snarling.

It’s entirely too easy, that’s all. The boy is so fragile Yoshitsugu can send him into new levels of suffering merely at a word. So much so that he creates it for himself, without Yoshitsugu needing to spare a thought. So it’s unsurprising that the game would begin to pall, after a time. 

“You might wish to eat your dinner,” is all he says, turning aside to gather up his own coat. “That might help regain your strength, wouldn’t you agree?”

He glances sharply down at the food, startled as though he hadn’t even noticed it there. “I don’t need it.”

Even from across the room, Yoshitsugu can see his hands shake. It’s almost certain he won’t have eaten when he was gone from camp, either, not with his unawareness. He sighs. “And if an attack comes when you’re like this? Or we receive further orders? I can’t imagine the wise man would be pleased to find you incapable of carrying them out.” Though that might just make him keep trying to drag himself up. “Or with me, for that matter, for allowing you to arrive in such a condition.”

Mitsunari slumps back to the floor, looks up at him as though he had spoken pure nonsense. “I’ll carry out my duty,” he says. “No matter what my condition.” But he slides the food towards him anyway - just a plain bowl of rice, and even that he picks at grain by grain as though the process pains him.

Ah yes. He can still find joy in this, yet. There are nigh limitless ways he can suffer, when existence itself is such a hardship. Though that Yoshitsugu understands well enough. It seems they’re well suited to one another, after all.

“Who could ever doubt it?” he says, and lets the tent flap swing shut behind him.

***

He doesn’t return to his tent immediately. The night is too crisp and clear for that, as though he can feel some yet unknown fate rushing to be born. He’s learned to trust such feelings, at least when they come under the last light of a sliver of waning moon; in all the long days of his sickness, when every man had turned away from him, he had turned to the heavens. And in darkness, he has learned to read their answers.

Even the night’s breeze is enough to irritate his ravaged skin, that which he hasn’t yet seen fit to cover, at any rate. Yoshitsugu pays it no mind. There’s more suffering than that to await, so much more to spread across the earth before he can be satisfied.

And a boy behind him still tucked into bed, for whom eating a bowl of rice is a scarcely surmountable torment.

He doesn’t need to look at the stars to see Mitsunari’s fate. That boy will drive himself to death, on this battlefield or some other; if he doesn’t manage to succumb to exhaustion first, that is. Yoshitsugu has come to wonder if he doesn’t desire as much. The process of existence does seem so disagreeable to him. But on his way he’s sure to spread suffering as great as even Yoshitsugu could hope to see, a rending scream of misery for every point of light that looks down on him, and just as cold and pure.

He looks, anyway.

When he finally turns back to camp, he finds a messenger waiting with barely constrained impatience. The man rushes up to him almost without hesitation, hastily kneels.

“Lord Otani,” he says, “The enemy forces have been sighted!”

***

The battle goes poorly, it would appear.

To tell the truth, Yoshitsugu can hardly tell how it might go. It’s all he can do to stay on his horse, to keep his sword brandished before him as his nerves jangle with every swing. But it could hardly have been otherwise. One wouldn’t call Mitsunari’s advance guard small, but it’s nothing to match the entire strength of their foes, even had they been in readiness for the fight. As it is, they find themselves retreating step by step, even as Mitsunari urges them forward, throws himself into the enemy as though he could win the day through sheer bloodthirstiness.

It’s only too clear to Yoshitsugu that this will be the last time he rides into battle. Even should he manage to survive the day, he’s scarcely strong enough to fight. An irony, he supposes, just when he’s come across a man whose service is truly enjoyable. Or it would be, if Mitsunari weren’t just as likely to perish before the day is out.

The boy darts across the battlefield like lightning, deadly flashes of his blade almost too fast to follow. It takes all Yoshitsugu’s concentration just to keep him in sight. If nothing else, he can follow him by the sounds, the cries of men one after the other cut off as they die. His own growls, like nothing one expects a man might bring forth.

He’s constantly surrounded, leaping back into the chaos each time he manages to cut his way through. Doesn’t bother to defend himself, doesn’t even look anywhere but right before his eyes, at the face of the next man to die. Yoshitsugu cuts down one man aiming at his back; charges another with the bulk of his horse when his arms are too weary to swing. In all likeliness, Mitsunari would be well out of reach by the time the strike could connect, already on to the next target. If not, he would never have even realized the strike was coming.

The last of the day’s light filters thinly through the dust, catches in dull glints on the edges of blades. Yoshitsugu scarcely sees it, hears nothing but his own breath rattling in his lungs. And even the most capable of men must eventually come to a finish, and Yoshitsugu is hardly that, anymore.

He drops from his horse, sandals sinking into the churned-up ground.

It’s almost a relief to let his sword down too, the point hanging limply to drag in the mud. Yoshitsugu forces a hollow laugh; even that’s too much effort, chafes his armor over his skin until the world flickers before his eyes. He’s waited bitterly for his weakness to overcome him, almost hoped for it to come in the quick fatality of battle. Now that it’s upon him, he scarcely feels anything above the pain.

“Gyobu!” Somehow Mitsunari is at his side, grasping his arm with fingers like daggers in his flesh. Blade sheathed in his hand, the blackness that shrouds him floating away on the evening breeze to show him white-faced and panting beneath streaks of blood. He’s somehow very glad for the sight. Though that’s only natural, of course; if he is to end here, at least his aims will go on in the form of this man. “What are you doing!?”

There are lines of worry carved into his face, breaking the blankness of his battle frenzy. But of course there would be, with this loss for the Regent so close at hand. “You would do best to call a general retreat, Mitsunari,” he says, mild as could be.

“Never!” he shouts. “Gyobu, it’s your duty to tell me how to ensure our victory! I command you, Gyobu!”

“We’re too far separated from the main force,” he says. “For you to continue to fight here alone will only cost you your life and your men.” It’s not “us,” but when had Mitsunari ever noticed such details.

“Better than losing the territory Lord Hanbei requires us to take!”

It scarcely bears mentioning that it will be lost either way if they fall. “Then it’s up to you, Lord Ishida,” Mitsunari recoils, clutches his sword close to him, as though Yoshitsugu himself were like to deal him a blow. “How you see fit to stand against such a number.”

He bares his teeth. “We make a stand here.” Jaw set, staring out at the mass of men, and no, it’s not the fate of the Regent’s armies that ever gives him pause. “It matters not how many of us fall, only Lord Hanbei’s plans and Lord Hideyoshi’s victory. We fight until the enemy lies broken beneath our feet!”

The pure calm of battle is stealing over him again, as much peace as Mitsunari ever knows. Nothing left for worry anymore, for anger. Yoshitsugu had known this would come, had waited for it. It’s only natural that a man such as this would look for peace in going to his death.

It’s not enough.

Oh, not enough at all. Mitsunari is fated for suffering, yes - but not this pedestrian tragedy, over before it’s so much as begun. Mitsunari could engender suffering of such degree to envelop all who encountered in him within it. To touch the entire world, and see Yoshitsugu’s fondest wish realized. Yoshitsugu has seen it written in the stars that even now have begun to peek through the fading dusk.

So he has to live, for this day at least.

Yoshitsugu sheathes his sword, lets it drop to the ground at his side. “You’re certain, then?”

“Of course I’m certain. Gyobu, what are you doing!? Do you mean to desert? Gyobu!”

“One moment, if I may. By all means, call the men. Whoever can answer, that is.” Mitsunari doesn’t stop shouting, of course. Yoshitsugu ignores that, too, one more skill he’s learned over weeks in his service. Just sheds his breastplate, too, only too glad to be rid of the chafing weight, and the night air runs over his skin in agonizing clarity. It’s not his martial skills he has to depend on, now.

The stars gleam in the fresh night sky, tiny cold points that do nothing to brighten a moonless night. Yoshitsugu has read men’s fates in them, learnt to tilt their course, ever so slightly, to misfortune. It couldn’t be so difficult, to simply bring that curse into the here and now. Not when there’s already so much misfortune laden in the very air around them. 

The enemy is nearly upon them. The night around them has fallen black as pitch, too dark to see even the gleam of their blades, but he can hear the pounding of their horses’ hooves as they approach. Can feel the terror waxing among Mitsunari’s men as they come, and more and more among the enemy as well, and it’s enough to make him laugh aloud, cackles that echo on the breeze until he can scarcely draw breath to continue. It might hinder their own troops as well as the enemy; it matters not at all. It will do nothing to hinder Mitsunari from slaughtering all that stands before him.

He fixes the oncoming soldiers in his mind, countless points of killing intent scattered as the stars that guide him to them. Traces the paths of their fates to where they unite before him, and lets them cloud with darkness. With fear. Like this, they’re as easy to break as Mitsunari is.

When he finally opens his eyes, it’s to the sound of screams.

From Mitsunari’s direction, certainly; he can hear the whistle of his blade through the air even above the cries. But just as much from all around, all the points of consciousness filling the vision of his mind - shining, bursting, being wiped away. It’s pitiable. Glorious. If he had but known, he would have done this long before now.

It’s not enough. It won’t ever be enough, not until the entire field is as crusted with blood and pain as the ground beneath his feet, until the world itself is pulled down with them and its dire fate sure as the march of the stars through the sky. Not until Mitsunari is free to bring still greater misery down on them all. So he breathes in slow and deep, lets his mind seek out new targets as they rush on, and drags them down along with him, into the night growing ever blacker around him. He doesn’t know how many have fallen. Doesn’t even know what’s become of Mitsunari. Knows only darkness, and pain, and victory.

At the moment he lets his concentration fall, someone finally lights a torch, and in the sudden glare he sees the Regent’s banners hoisted high. Sees Mitsunari, still surrounded by foes but making headway, now, and that’s when his legs start to give out, like the agony that’s been with him the whole time has at last started to matter.

“Gyobu!” Mitsunari’s voice, from much closer than he’d realized it had been. “Gyobu!” He shits his eyes once more, and it’s the last and most inexplicable thing he hears.

***

 

One always hears Mitsunari coming before he arrives. Even in the rare moments he’s not shouting, he stomps about in his armor as though he intends to rend the floor beneath his feet. Yoshitsugu has always considered it just one more thing to pity about him.

He’s managed to drag himself from his bed, though he awoke with blood pounding through his ears and knives running staccato across his nerves, prop himself up at the low table that occupies most of the little room. It feels rather foolish to make the effort, to be sure. The wise man might pretend that he can hide his ailment, that no one might ever call him weak. Yoshitsugu has never had that luxury.

He’s still there when Mitsunari slams open the paneled door and stalks into the room. He doesn’t bother to knock, either.

“I’ve brought your supper,” he says simply. And he has, at that, a tray of sufficient variety that Yoshitsugu can’t imagine he’d assembled it himself. “Lord Hanbei says you’re not to exert yourself, so eat and get back to bed.”

“The wise man is generous,” Yoshitsugu says. “I take it our work was successful, then.”

Mitsunari nods. “Lord Hanbei’s army caught up with us in the night. By then both our forces were nearly obliterated.” He doesn’t ask how it happened, doesn’t even give a glance in curiosity. The wise man will wish to hear eventually, he’s certain; until then, Mitsunari’s willing ignorance has its own charm. For him, Yoshitsugu supposes, it’s the way things are meant to be. “Lord Hanbei has already rebuked me for having allowed such losses. Though I know I deserve worse.”

Certainly, the way it’s meant to be. “I’m surprised he gave you leave to see me, then.”

Mitsunari flushes. “He ordered me not to disturb you,” he says. “But there’s no disturbance in a general giving orders to his men. So I came.”

If Mitsunari’s willing to use such an excuse, he must truly believe it. Certainly if he felt any anxiety about disobeying his lord, he’d not have hesitated to leave Yoshitsugu behind. But somehow it’s as satisfying to see his calm set face as if he had truly been afflicted by it.”

But well. Strange things can come to a man, when he’s unwell. “And the food?” he asks. “Where might you have gotten that idea, I wonder?”

The boy looks away sharply. “Ieyasu said you might be ailing,” he manages, his flush managing to deepen still further. “I told him that you weren’t weak, but he insisted…” He looks at Yoshitsugu again - or for the first time, perhaps, because he has to stare for a long minute, brows slowly lowering in some permutation of his usual rage. At last he shoves the tray further towards him across the table, hard enough that the food sloshes in the bowls. “I told you to eat. There’s no excuse for defiance.”

“I never thought I’d live to see you saying that to me,” Yoshitsugu picks up the chopsticks, though just this once he feels sympathy for Mitsunari’s aversion. “Then do tell me, Lord Ishida, what orders you could possibly have for me.”

A moment’s hesitation - it ought to have been delightful, to see Mitsunari wordless as he is so rarely. “I came to tell you to mend yourself without delay,” he says curtly. “Your strength was invaluable to me in battle. To the Toyotomi. There’s no excuse for keeping yourself a moment longer from Lord Hideyoshi’s service.”

Yoshitsugu can’t help but laugh out loud, and still harder when Mitsunari’s stern face dissolves into wide-eyed confusion. “You can say that so simply,” he manages finally. “You are a fortunate man after all, Mitsunari.”

“It is simple.” Mitsunari glowers down at him, quickly covers his bewilderment. “I gave you an order. All you need do is obey. That’s all the fortune necessary.” He turns away, manages to slide the door open almost quietly, this time. “I’ve given you your orders. I’m forbidden to stay any longer.”

“Of course, of course.”

Yoshitsugu listens to his footsteps clank down the hall, munches thoughtfully on a piece of fish. Tokugawa has chosen well, it seems. The food is already starting to regain some of its savor.

Certainly, he’ll not wield a sword again. And yet what use is a sword when he could has easily run his foes through with a curse? Even the wise man would hardly doubt his martial prowess. He can’t ride, soon enough might scarcely be able to walk, not that Mitsunari is likely to notice either way. Well, he’d hardly be the first to be carried on a litter. Perhaps in time he can improve on that, as well. Even as he thinks he feels the power stirring beneath his fingers, sure as the sun coming to set outside the high window.

It seems they truly are suited for one another, after all.


End file.
